


(sharp teeth) painting up the sky

by silverette666



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hickeys, M/M, Marks, aka corvo does a serious number on daud's neck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverette666/pseuds/silverette666
Summary: Daud brings a hand up to rub at his neck, first at his nape and then dragging it down the side, hissing quickly when that jostles a good chunk of the bruises. He hastily walks out to the mirror in the hallway, stretching the neck of his undershirt and angling his chin up to get a better look at the hickeys Corvo's left on him. They're all dark, varying in shade between deep red and plum, concentrated around the thick tendons of his neck and the upper swell of his pecs. They can't be mistaken for anything else, circular and stark against his pale skin, not fading around the edges like the one on his jaw.





	(sharp teeth) painting up the sky

**Author's Note:**

> dishonored commission for somebody who wishes to remain anonymous; thank you for the support!

It's two days later that Corvo sees the man again, finally returning. His presence is announced by the heavy creak of their front door opening and then Daud’s shuffling in, leaning against the wall outside the kitchen. He doesn't bother taking off his shoes as he enters the room, dragging a chair and collapsing into it, arm shooting up to grab at his shoulder as it gets jolted with the motion. His head tips backwards, a sigh escaping past his lips when the cold wood of the backrest makes contact with his nape. There's a bruise blossoming on the underside of his jaw and the skin above his left eyebrow looks a bit swollen. Daud's nostrils flare when he inhales; it doesn't take much for Corvo to put two and two together and realize that his shoulder has been popped out of its socket—the older man favors his left arm, accentuating the odd curve gracing the line of his shoulders. He sighs, letting the plate in his hand clatter to the bottom of the sink and wipes his hands on a nearby towel. Corvo knows that Daud is still too proud to admit that something unpredicted has happened, something that asked for his involvement, that he hasn't escaped from unscathed.

 

He rolls up his sleeves, stepping up to the chair the older man's currently occupying; Daud still refuses to meet his eyes. Silently, he places a hand on Daud's uninjured shoulder, urging him to get up. Once he has done so, he lays on the ground on his own, lips curling cruelly when his back makes contact with the cold linoleum. It would be easier without the man's coat in the way, Corvo muses as he kneels down on Daud's right side. He grasps at his hand and brings it up slowly, pulling steadily on it, until the short exhales coming from Daud are interrupted by a rather loud pop. The grimace twisting his features is gone as relief washes over Daud in long waves, the tendons in his neck straining against his skin once before relaxing completely. He remains motionless for a few moments more, and then he’s opening his eyes to look at Corvo.

 

"Help me up," he says, voice an uncharacteristic croak. An arm shoots up and Corvo complies, bringing the older man up on his feet. Carefully, he helps him discard his coat, hanging it around the back of the chair Daud was sitting in before. He doesn't get any thanks in return—not that he expected it, after Daud caved and called for his help—so he returns to the sink and the abandoned dishes within.

 

The water has gone cold in the meantime, soapy suds floating on top of the chilly surface. Without a second though, Corvo plunges his hands in, grabbing the plate he was scrubbing at when Daud walked in, eager to finish the job. Emily had come over earlier, bright-eyed and smiling, asking if dinner was ready and would Corvo mind if she got started on her homework with him around? The memory brings a soft smile to his lips, picturing Emily sitting in one of the high chairs, the look of total concentration on her face as she was scribbling in her notebook dear to him. Behind his back, Daud shuffles over, moving to hang his coat and then disappearing in their living room. There's the muted sound of the bar opening and closing, glass clinking when he presumably pours himself a drink; then silence. A minute later, Corvo almost jerks when Daud slams the bottle down before walking back into the kitchen, topped off glass in hand. He's missing the ice cubes, but he makes no move to get them, choosing to sit down instead.

 

Corvo goes to rinse the dishes, the sound of running water making it impossible to hear Daud swallow whatever he's drinking tonight. He can make out the glass being placed on the table, not too forcefully but not very gently either, somewhere in between, this time; he has half a mind to turn around and see what's going on, what made him switch between extremes. Instead, he focuses on the task at hand, pulling the plug from the sink and watching the water swirl down the drain.

 

Only after the silence settles over the room once more does Corvo turn to face Daud. He's not expecting to see him sitting there, top two buttons of his shirt undone, one of his ankles resting on top of his knee; glass of amber liquid held loosely between three fingers. His toes are pointing towards Corvo, the shiny tip of his shoe dull under a fine layer of dust and dried out drops of puddle water. The bottom of his pants are dirty as well, as if he's had to run through the rainy streets at some point. All he's missing is one of his cigars smoldering quietly at the corner of his lips to complete the image of nonchalance Daud seems to exude. Corvo crosses his arms.

 

Suddenly, Daud gets up. He walks Corvo backwards, until the younger man reaches the faux granite countertop behind him, rounded margin digging into his back. He places one hand next to his waist while the other raises the glass to his lips. Daud finishes his drink in one long pull, throat working around the large mouthful, eyes never leaving Corvo as he places the glass in the empty sink.

 

Despite being the same height, Daud tries boxing Corvo in, squaring his shoulders and rising up on his toes. He's staring intensely at the younger man, eyes dropping to his mouth before leaning in and biting at it, tugging Corvo's bottom lip into his mouth and kissing him properly. His tongue still holds the smoky aftertaste of his drink, muddled but still sharp enough for Corvo to sense it.

 

A few moments pass like this before they break apart. Daud throws one of his arms—his uninjured one—around Corvo's shoulders, slips the other under his shirt; their foreheads are touching and the older man is nuzzling his nose into Corvo's cheekbone, almost softly. The illusion shatters when his hand grips Corvo's hip with the intention of pushing him down. He's made aware of Daud's cock pressed into his thigh, half-hard but still insistent.

 

" _Down_ ," he growls into Corvo's skin when he doesn't seem to get the clue, teeth catching on his jaw, scraping against the day-old stubble that grows there. His hands press harder, whole body working to move Corvo where he wants him.

 

With a roll of his eyes that goes unnoticed (or so he hopes), Corvo shrugs out of Daud’s embrace. He turns them fluently, until the older man has his back to the counter, edge poking into his lower back. There is confusion written on Daud's face, surprise coloring his expression; he must be at least tipsy already, if he's not trying to fight Corvo for pushing him around like that, choosing to grip onto the surface behind him as the younger man makes quick work of his shirt buttons. The undershirt he's wearing is washed out, off-white veering towards gray in color, soft and worn. Its collar stretches easily when Corvo moves to push at it with his fingers, mouth latching onto the revealed skin. The tops of Daud's pecs flex under his lips, rising up with his ribcage as he breathes in.

 

"You don't get to walk in and push me around," Corvo says; "after missing for two days." _I was worried_ , he doesn't say, just like he never does when Daud ends up disappearing for short periods of time. It's inevitable, with the kind of work Daud does, and it's not always this bad when he comes back. Sometimes, he just has to track a moving target, and it takes him way longer than just a couple of days to return. When he does, he's unscathed, just grumpy and irritable from lack of proper sleep.

 

It's when he shows up at their door sooner than what Corvo feels comfortable expecting that he worries. Daud always makes it back, but his state is usually worse. There's a hand clutching his middle, a limp ankle, blood pouring down his temple, a bullet lodged in his thigh; a dislocated shoulder and bruises blooming in dark roses on his skin.

 

He moves upwards, adding to the purple spots decorating his jaw, making them into a line down his throat. They look different from the concentrated bruise spreading across his mandible, the result of somebody's fist connecting with his face. He sucks at the salty skin, bitter with the faintest traces of cologne or aftershave, until the capillaries burst under the thin surface. The marks left by Corvo are a dark, angry red, complementing the violet tone of his bruised jaw. It sends a shiver down Corvo's spine, to see his teeth and tongue leave such imprints on Daud, to know that despite the similar colors—both will green and yellow before eventually fading away—the way they look is still so different and telling; _damning_ , in a way.

 

Daud will have to walk around practically flaunting Corvo's marks of—of ownership, there's no other word for it; his neck is branded for all to see, and, surely, people will definitely look. The thrill he feels at the thought of the older man trying to cover up, wearing scarves or one of his knitted turtlenecks is intoxicating. It makes Corvo suck harder, bite down more, flesh and sinew bending under the force of his teeth.

 

The younger man pulls away after making one last trip to Daud's chest, ready to admire his work. There's a network of wine-colored, dime-sized hickeys adorning his neck and chest, and it makes Corvo bite at Daud's collarbones when a rush of dizziness hits him. _Beautiful_ , he thinks, and he might've said it out loud when he hears a snort making its way past Daud's lips. Apart from that little puff of air, he's been mostly quiet the entire time.

 

Looking up at him, Corvo's mouth drops open when Daud gazes at him with glazed eyes, shiny and unfocused. His cock twitches when Corvo shifts his thigh to press it firmer against his length, a small moan working its way out of his chest. Corvo contemplates reaching down and tugging Daud's pants open to jerk him off, maybe going back to mouthing at his neck, but it's not often that he has the older man all pliant before him, silent and malleable.

 

Hesitantly, he moves his hand to Daud's shoulder and presses down, just like he had before. To his surprise, the man lets himself be guided until he's level with Corvo's crotch, hard dick pulsing under the zipper of his pants. He hastily pops them open, reaching to tug his underwear down while at the same time his free hand brings Daud's head closer to his prick.

 

It has to be one of the sloppiest blowjobs Corvo's ever experienced; Daud's saliva drips down his chin and onto the floor, and he makes no effort to swallow around Corvo's cock. He opens his mouth wide to cram more of it down his throat, tongue lapping at the underside, but it's all very loose and lacking. The younger man has half a mind to reach down and slap Daud, make him tighten his lips around his shaft somehow, when he gets a better idea. He wraps one of his own hands around himself, lets the other drift down to Daud's shoulder, moving inconspicuously closer to his throat. He pushes his fingers in, digging into the fresh marks laid out on his skin, and the reaction is instantaneous; Daud moans, seals his lips around the head of Corvo's cock, lets his eyes fall shut.

 

Despite his renewed interest he's still only focusing on the head, not trying to fit more into his mouth, lips pulling back up the moment they touch Corvo's fingers. The only difference is in the needy sounds getting stuck in the older man's throat: they turn into vibrations that resonate and travel from the tip of Corvo's dick down to where he's holding his own cock, following the rhythm of him pressing down on Daud's neck; getting louder when he fingers the bruises.

 

With a sigh, Corvo pulls out. Daud's lazy, distracted work is starting to annoy him instead. His hand flies into the older man's hair, fisting there, and he jerks himself off over his face. He doesn't get to do this often, grip Daud's hair and get off with him kneeling between his legs, and that's enough to spur him on, regretting not having a third hand to wrap around his neck. He'd like to watch Daud's eyes go half-lidded at the action, little spikes of pain shooting down his spine, mixing with the pleasure coiling in his guts.

 

As if reading his mind, one of Daud's own hands reaches up to his throat, groping blindly at the abused flesh until he finds what he's looking for. His head would pitch forward if not for Corvo's fist still in his hair, pulling and keeping him upright. The man's mouth opens in a low groan, dry lips parting as the sound is let out into the room, and Corvo wonders if he's going to be mad when he comes across his face.

 

Luckily, Daud seems to somehow notice this. His unoccupied arm wraps around Corvo's thighs, urging him forward, and he catches the head of his cock in between his lips again, lids closing when he feels the bitter taste of precum on his tongue. He's not fazed by the rhythmic thumping of Corvo's fingers against his bottom lip and chin, sucking idly at the tip and flicking his tongue over the man's drooling slit.

 

A couple of minutes pass before Corvo bows over Daud, an arm shooting out to grip the countertop behind him as he gasps out his release. The knot in the pit of his stomach loosens, and although his orgasm is born out of necessity more than anything, he still feels the pleasant aftershocks zip up and down his spine, leaving him jittery for a few moments. Unceremoniously, Daud gathers himself up as Corvo pulls his pants up, turning his head to spit in the sink. There's a loud _splat_ as the mouthful of cum lands at the bottom of the sink and then water rushes out of the tap, washing it away. The older man bends over the faucet, cupping a palm under the stream and leaning in to drink from it, sloshing the water around in his mouth before spitting it out as well.

 

Daud passes a hand over his face, calloused fingers scraping over the stubble on his cheeks as he makes to slip away from Corvo and exit the kitchen. Corvo blocks him, wrapping a hand around his wrist and sliding a thigh in between Daud's legs, kneeing at the still-hard line of his cock. He uses his shoulder to push Daud back in place, thigh rubbing insistently at Daud, keen to tear more frustrated sounds out of him. He breathes over his jaw, hand cupping his throat before Corvo brushes his lips along its column; moving lower, his mouth curves into a smirk and then Corvo's sinking his teeth into the bruises marring his skin. Daud curls his fists into Corvo's hip and shoulder, hisses, bears down on his leg, ruts quick and dirty against it.

 

He'd like to hitch the older man's thigh up, place it around his hips so he can fuck up into him until Daud’s coming in his pants, painting the inside of his underwear sticky white. Corvo reaches down with intent, palm resting over the obvious bulge in his slacks, digging the meaty heel of his hand in, maybe a bit too hard. Daud snarls and wrenches his head away from Corvo only to bury his nose into his shoulder, nuzzling at the material of his shirt as his cock rubs itself raw in the drenched confines of his clothes.

 

He gasps out his release when he comes, short, cut-off breaths puffed right in between Corvo's collarbones, dampening the skin. Daud lets out a few low groans, leaning his entire weight on the younger man and almost toppling him over. His head feels heavy where it's resting on Corvo's chest, temples wet with sweat that gets wiped off on his clothes. They both just stand there for a moment, supporting each other while Daud catches his breath.

 

With a huff, the older man pushes off of Corvo, stepping awkwardly to try to unstick his wet underwear from his crotch. Daud brings a hand up to rub at his neck, first at the nape and then dragging it down the side, hissing quickly when that jostles a good chunk of the bruises. He hastily walks out to the mirror in the hallway, stretching the neck of his undershirt and angling his chin up to get a better look at the hickeys Corvo's left on him. They're all dark, varying in shade between deep red and plum, concentrated around the thick tendons of his neck and the upper swell of his pecs. They can't be mistaken for anything else, circular and stark against his pale skin, not fading around the edges like the one on his jaw.

 

He hauls a few curses in the general direction of the kitchen—no doubt meaning them for Corvo—knowing that he's going to have to wait for them to heal before going out again, knowing he can't afford to stay cooped up inside for however long that's going to take. There will be stares directed at him, even more than usual: a tall man with a collection of marks around his face, from the deep scar gouged into the right side of his cheek, to his swollen browbone and jaw and ravaged neck.

 

Daud stops himself from punching the mirror, choosing to close his eyes and inhale deeply instead. He heads towards the bathroom, lets the door slam shut behind him and turns on the shower, focused on peeling his clothes away from his body. His shoulder gives a slight twinge of sympathy when he discards his shirt and his eye smarts when he rubs at it. What hurts the most, though, is his neck, skin stretching thin over his Adam's apple when he lets his head fall backwards onto the cold bathroom tiles.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://maccready-s.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/deaconkink) | [commission info](http://maccready-s.tumblr.com/post/160994683913/commissions-info)


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